


Sabotage

by IntuitivelyFortuitous



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Gen, Space Pirates, basically they save spock then spock lets them fake kidnap him, not mirror universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10650555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntuitivelyFortuitous/pseuds/IntuitivelyFortuitous
Summary: A space pirate AU in which Spock gets kidnapped and the crew rescues him. And then he lets them kidnap him again for good measure.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TOS spones challenge on tumblr, I present to you.... a space pirate au! The crew is more of a bounty hunting/smuggling crew, but they still do plenty of exploring strange new worlds and enforcing intergalactic justice. Just on a smaller scale.

“Third down the hall to the right,” Sulu said, his voice raw and quiet. 

“Is it the guy?” he asked, counting doors as per the pilot’s instructions. It was about a hundred yards away dull with unimportance against the rest of the filth covered wall. The comm pinned to his jacket hissed white noise. It was comforting, hearing the little things Sulu was doing inside the relative safety of the ship, but he’d have to turn it off again when he got inside. Noise could mean distraction. 

“Can’t tell. He the only one in this place, so we’d better hope so. We’ve got about ten minutes until Jim breaks through the barrier from inside and I don’t know what you’re supposed to do until then,” he said, sounding quietly agitated.

McCoy glanced around. The hallway was solid metal, no air ducts, no openings, no cracks. Were it not for Sulu and the sensor aboard their ship, he’d have to resort to pounding on doors and bringing the entire building down in an earthquake on his head. It really did seem like it was going to give way any second. The floor was a mush of algae and rust, condensation drawing streaks of green minerals on the walls. He sloshed forward, longing to set his feet on a dry surface, but he couldn’t risk anyone seeing his tracks. A delicate scratching came from ahead, the sound of metal twisting against catches and gears. Jim was probably trying to break it open the old-fashioned way. 

“He’s not getting through,” he told the comm. “Are there any other ways in?”

There was a pause. “Yeah, but it’s—”

A creak came from upstairs. He didn’t know if it was the wind or someone trying to be quiet. “Is there another way in?” he repeated. 

“From the outside,” Sulu said reluctantly. “There’s a little chute that angles up to the quarters. It’s…probably how they deposit bodies.”

He thought about how the building had looked when they flew in: daunting from far away, spire-like. Up close, half of the outside panels had fallen off. It was more a broken exoskeleton than the tower it might have been. He could probably crawl in from outside like Jim had to get them in, but scaling walls that were five hundred feet in the air had never been his forte. And besides, the wind was bad enough to knock the person out of his hands should he lose even a pound of his grip. 

Just before he was about to reply that yes, he’d do it, a door slung open. McCoy threw himself to the side, arms guarding his face. There were no armored men with phasers bigger than their thighs, no blasts of bright red and orange. Jim’s dirty blonde head poked out from the bottom. He looked like he’d been through the waste deposits and back. McCoy sighed and rushed forward, bandages falling from his hands as he pulled a hypospray from his case. It contained a pre-prepared sedative, potent enough to knock someone out but not enough to cause any harm. It wasn’t as if they’d been hired to kill the guy, Jim didn’t take jobs like that. Next came a minor regenerator, just in case. Jim pulled him around the corner and slammed the door shut. 

“Took you damn long enough!” he said, feet slipping on green goo as he rushed toward a crumpled figure in the corner. 

“Sorry, Bones,” Jim protested. “This lock is far more advanced than the others I’ve gone through. I’m not liking the reasons that come to mind.”

McCoy harrumphed out of obligation as he knelt to examine their bounty. At least if this person healthy he wouldn’t have any qualms against using a hypospray as an opening statement. Off-color, sweating and pasty. He lifted and eyelid with his thumb. No response to light. The pupils were the same size. There was something crusty dried on the pant leg, but it didn’t look like blood. He reached for the man’s carotid and glanced at the stopwatch hanging from Jim’s belt. 

“Shit,” he said, looking back. He checked again. 

“What?” Jim asked, pressing his ear against the hole that he had created around the door handle. 

“Heart rate is off the charts, but respiration rate is practically nonexistent. And what the hell is this?” he asked, pressing his palm against the dried liquid on the person’s leg that he had previously assumed to be algae. 

There was a shudder, a gasp, and the figure’s eyes flew open. He yanked his hand away as the body beneath it gasped for breath, arms lashing out at anything nearby. McCoy evaded one swipe of long green fingers to his head, but not the next. He was launched against the wall with a clang twisting to free himself from the wavering grasp of a very angry being of unknown origin. A hand was on his throat, not tight enough to restrict his breathing, but warning enough. He managed a thin breath.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jim pacified, holding both hands in front of him. “We’re not here to hurt you. My name is James T. Kirk. You’re currently pressing my ship’s doctor against the wall.”

The humanoid didn’t relent, but McCoy had managed to store up enough air for a tirade. 

“Let go of me, you stubborn, pointy-eared menace! I know you can barely stand on that leg. Don’t you even think about running off into god-knows-where, you’ll re-open every wound you’d managed to heal!” he hissed, opting to grip the wrist that held his throat instead of bracing himself on the floor. 

Angry brown eyes turned back on him. “Had you not interrupted by healing trance, doctor, I would have completed the process in approximately 23.8 minutes.”

“Oh, you’d know that, would you? You’re not a computer!” he hesitated, thinking of the green substance he had now confirmed to be blood. “Are you?”

“I am Vulcan, as your medical knowledge should have been able to tell you. What is your purpose here?”

They both knew he was asking who was paying them to fetch him. McCoy opened his mouth to tell him exactly what they intended to do, but Jim and the Vulcan froze in synchrony. 

Jim glanced back at him, eyes wide, and motioned “3, armed.” The Vulcan frowned, set him silently on the ground, and slid next to Jim without making a sound.

“McCoy to bridge,” he hissed into the communicator that now hung from his shirt by a wire, “we’ve got trouble.”

“Stand by.” He could hear the whirring echo from Sulu’s equipment. “Williams isn’t answering, Doc.”

“Give me a minute, Sulu. Maybe…” Maybe they would just walk past. Assuming Williams had the shuttle in the air already, that would make things easier. 

He tiptoed next to Jim and put his ear toward the twisted hole where the lock used to be. He could hear voices, but they were far too muffled for him to make out. McCoy reached towards his comm again, but he was stilled by a hand around his wrist. One far stronger than Jim’s. 

“…ecessary. Just because Nix and Sova are MIA. What’s he thinking about doing with him, anyway?” the Vulcan parroted.

Jim spun around, his mouth open. McCoy didn’t dare say anything, half for fear that he would get his face planted against the wall again. If their new friend’s ears were sensitive enough to catch whatever the hostiles were saying, he wasn’t going to complain. He waited but tugged at the man’s grip gently enough to let him know that he wasn’t going to do anything rash. 

“You think I know?” he continued, echoing the muffled conversation from outside. “Last I heard, he needed the guy’s blood for something. Disgusting, if you ask me.”

There was a pause, a lull in conversation, where McCoy strained to hear what his human ears could not. 

“What’s that?” the Vulcan asked, and for a second it seemed like he was addressing the two of them, but he shook his head minutely. And then his eyes landed on McCoy’s open medical bag. 

“Bones,” Jim warned, eyes tracing a piece of rolled gauze under his foot and out the door. 

“Sulu,” Leonard started, “we need out. Now.”

“What?” Sulu said, the sound of many buttons being pressed at the same time filling the room, “I can’t just—”

Jim tapped his own headset, doubling the sound. “Sulu, now would be a very good time to try out some of that creative flying you’ve been working on.”

McCoy groaned. If there had been any other way and if he didn’t have an injured patient, he’d have protested with anything he had. Instead, he glanced at the floor next to the green stain and said, “the death chute.”

Sulu caught on immediately. “You know how to open it?”

All eyes turned to Jim. “There is a lever to the left of you, Mr. Vulcan,” he breathed, casually bracing the door. “Mr. Sulu, give us the count.”

McCoy felt a tug on his bag. The roll of gauze slid under the door. He could hear the voices much, much clearer now. A vibration came from outside, the slow hum of the engines of their ship getting nearer.

“In five!” Sulu said, loud enough for whoever was on the other side of the door to shout to his comrades.

“On five!” Jim echoed, and what was highly debatably four seconds later, the ground dropped from under them. 

McCoy was fairly sure his arms were flapping like a cartoon bird as they tumbled onto a forty-five degree slope that shot them into the open air. Jim was whooping like a teenage boy on a ski ramp and their bounty dropped a lot faster than the two humans. He didn’t have long to fall, nor did he have long to ponder, because there was a loud of someone landing. A second later his tailbone was on _fire_.

Sulu’s fancy flying indeed. They were on top of their tiny little vessel. McCoy was three seconds away from turning into a panicking wreck, but Jim was still laughing. A manhole cover popped open a few feet away. 

Scotty peered out of it, the wind plastering his hair against the side of this face. “Would ya look at that, Mr. Sulu? It worked!”

They watched the mystery man pry his foot out of an _actual dent_ in the exterior while somehow maintaining his balance. 

“It damn well shouldn’t have been a question!” McCoy shouted as they sped away, his stomach turning at the sight of the land zipping by. He didn’t think he could pry his white-knuckled hands from the metal exterior if his life depended on it. 

“Well, come on, Doc,” Scotty said, waving him forward. “Can’t hang around this place all day, now.”

“Him first,” he said, nodding his head to the man with fresh blood blossoming from his leg yet again. 

He obliged, and Scotty disappeared for a moment to help McCoy’s new patient down the Jeffries tube. Clanking on the roof of the spaceship indicated someone crawling to meet him. How Jim could be mobile when they were so far off the ground he had no idea. 

“Come on,” Jim said, trying to wrestle McCoy off of his belly. He scooted forward a few feet, froze again as they went through a thick fog, and clenched his eyes shut. Someone jerked on his collar and he tumbled down the manhole with a thud. Jim landed much more gracefully beside him, wiping moisture from the atmosphere off of his cheeks. 

“Alright?” Jim asked. 

He hyperventilated in response. 

 

“I hate you,” was the first thing McCoy said when he woke. 

Jim was peering down at him, his hair matted where the headset had flattened its usual curl. There was a bruise under his left eye, but he was looking healthy enough. 

“Christine was afraid you’d twisted your ankle, so she had you looked at while you were loopy,” he explained, leaning back on the biobed to the left. 

“You knocked me out?” McCoy protested. “Why?”

His head was aching and his tailbone hurt like, well, like he had landed on solid metal. His eyesight was a bit...odd. The depth perception made it look like the floor was two feet away and Jim was across the room. There was an uncomfortable haze over his thoughts that didn’t seem like it could be from stress. He narrowed his eyebrows in the best glare he could possibly manage without crossing his eyes. 

“Jim,” he ordered. 

His captain shrunk back. “It was the NEG4.”

“What about the NEG4?”

“I don’t know! I’m hardly a chemist. Get M’Benga to explain it.”

NEG4 was the best painkiller they’d ever found—it was a bit rough to get a hold of, especially if they were going through regular channels—but it was worth it. Very effective, very high amount required for a lethal dose, and long lasting. It took a lot to foster dependency and there was low potential for abuse. That combination of traits made it a very expensive beast. It was also the reason they tended to get theirs underground. And the new shipment just came in and he hadn’t gotten a change to check all of it yet…

“Morez mixed it, didn’t he?” McCoy snarled. 

Jim nodded, eyes grim. “Got it in one.”

He and Morez had been in business together for years. There was a possibility, albeit a miniscule one, that it had been a mistake. Maybe someone else had supplied the load and unknowingly sent it to Jim. Accident or not, they had paid a lot for that medicine. There was no way they could use it, and even less likelihood that Morez would give their money back. He was much more likely to have them all shot. 

“What did he put in it?”

He shook his head. “I can’t pronounce it. Makes for a very effective sedative, though.”

“That’s not the point!” McCoy said, seething.

He tried to reach up and cuff Jim on the side of the head, but a large pair of hands lifted him by his upper arms and set him back down. He knew he wasn’t a huge guy, but he was getting tired of being thrown around.

“It was dicitrihydramine phosphate,” said M’Benga from behind him, seemingly immune to the glare. 

“The hell’s that?” he asked, feeling no embarrassment for having zero knowledge of obscure foreign chemical compounds. That was what they’d hired the other man for, anyway. He’d been through some intense training before they met. 

“A compound native to Eclesia. It’s cheap as hell and pretty much untested on humans.” M’Benga paused for a moment, presumably for the effect, and added, “The whole stock is corrupted. They gave you a trick sample.”

McCoy’s fingernails pressed into his palms. “You’d better be joking, or I’ll…”

Jim’s easy smile turned icy. “No joke, Bones. We’re going back for our money one way or another,” he confirmed. 

M’Benga allowed him to sit up a bit. “You can’t think he’ll give it to you.”

“No, Bones,” he sighed, “I don’t think he will.”

Confrontation with Morez’s crew would be very dangerous. They were stronger in numbers, they had better ships. They had allies McCoy didn’t want to think about. He trusted Jim implicitly--if he was going to go after their money, he’d have a plan to get them all through, but he didn’t have to like it. Patching up crew members was his job, but he would prefer that they stay safe. He was treated to a vivid recollection of bright green bleeding onto a metal slab. 

“Wait a second,” he asked, “where’s the bounty?”

Jim glanced over his shoulder. “Right there,” he said, maneuvering himself so that his feet were where a patient’s head should be. A pasty, greenish figure was motionless on the table.

“Is he dead?” he asked. 

“He's fine, as far as I know. He said it was a healing trance. Told M’Benga to slap him.”

He blinked. “To what?”

“He told me that I’m going to need to wake him with physical force when he shows signs of regaining consciousness,” M’Benga clarified.

“When do we give him to the Empire?” McCoy asked, wishing he could dash to his station and begin tests immediately. 

“Well, the databases confirmed that he is what he says he is, but he’s not our bounty,” he said, cracking his knuckles and sitting up. 

“You’d better start making sense real soon, Jim boy.”

Jim winced as if he’d expected the hostility. “His name’s Spock. We looked him up, everything checked out. Son of a duke or some Vulcan equivalent. His jailors most likely hoped they could get a good ransom. And, unfortunately, they were also selling his blood. Any longer and they might not have been able to get a ransom at all. M’Benga said he didn’t know how he was moving. The actual bounty was on a Rocht Linnesk, the physically altered Klingon. We knew he’d been evading the Empire and that he’d been involved with the Ring, but Williams found no evidence that he had even been there.”

McCoy glanced over again, the motionless state of a trance still jarring to look at. “You didn’t give him any of that painkiller, did you?” he asked. 

“No,” M’Benga said, “He refused to take anything.”

He hummed. McCoy had never heard of the Vulcan species before, but others had similar self-preservation strategies. Judging by the state of him when he got onboard, he estimated that this Spock would wake in two or three days. In the meantime, he should be getting nutritional assistance from an IV. That, he was pleased to see, had already been taken care of. 

“So,” he said to Jim, who was also watching the Vulcan with a hesitant face, “What the hell do we do with him, then?”

“I suppose we have to wait until he’s awake enough to tell us,” he said with a shrug. 

Leonard narrowed his eyes. This was Kirkian Evasion at its best and he was too adept not to recognize it. “Jim.”

“He’s just going to have to stick with us for a while,” he explained, “or get off on Unden, take his pick.”

“You didn’t.”

He thought of wherever Vulcan must be, however many galaxies it was away, and how they were very probably going in the opposite direction from Spock's safety. It would be a long time before he would be home, if he would ever get there at all. He felt a twinge of pity that was mostly overshadowed by apprehension. 

“Jim, he’s going to be pissed. And you saw what he could do when he was injured.”

“I’ve weighed the consequences,” Jim commanded. “We’ll give him a ride after we catch up with Morez. I want you to prepare for a delivery, Bones.” 

He swallowed and enjoyed one last moment of peace, in the sickbay though it was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It Continues

Unden was a tiny planet. It had a delicate desert environment with very little natural life; the surface was pellets of sand that had been worn to dust between building-sized stones. McCoy was even glad to see the occasional bush and cactus. The few clans that had made their homes in the rickety metal shacks scattered in between rocks and brush were not friendly people. Morez was not native to this civilization; he had seen an opportunity for a very effective means of hiding from any governing bodies and taken it without hesitation. The first time McCoy had met him, he had tried to _buy him_. Jim had declined. And then, to his complete shock, he bought Chekov. Or perhaps “bought.” It was clear that the entire thing was an arrangement. As soon as they were out of sight, the two of them had whooped and giggled and high-fived for the better part of an hour before McCoy made them explain exactly what had happened. After that, they became ‘secure customers’ of the kind that made other dealers jealous. It enabled them to pick up their medications at a very low price and rescue other slaves that came by. 

When they landed this time, the deal would be off. Permanently. 

“Three more milliliters,” M’Benga had said, and he would’ve been in a coma. Jim was, as to be expected, irate. 

He paced back and forth on the bridge, feet making dark scuff marks against the polished silver. He didn’t say anything. This was something of a process: Jim would worry incessantly while Uhura got herself ready in her quarters. He would hyper focus on their subject and everything that could go wrong and Chekov and Scotty would come up with some clever scheme. And McCoy would just wait, because he was only useful when someone was bleeding. 

“What the hell are we going to do with Spock?” he asked, waving at the still motionless figure that they had set out on the bench next to the navigation console. “He’ll be awake before this is through, and if Morez picks up an unknown biological sign on his scanners, he’s not going to make it easy for us.”

Jim didn’t just mean that there would be issues with trust. Morez’s scanners were shockingly sophisticated for the man in control of them. They’d be able to pick out Spock's unique physiology in a minute, and then he would demand to see such a ‘rare specimen’. After that, and he’d either shoot him or try to buy him, it was a gamble trying to tell which. McCoy didn’t know how Jim had managed to work with that asshole for so long. 

“So we bring him with us,” Jim said. “Leave him on the shuttle—we’d have landed behind the bar, so his sensors would be obscured by his own shields. I’d open a comm link in case he woke up.”

“Jim,” McCoy started, “what would you do if you woke up on an unknown craft with people shouting in a comm link?”

Jim pursed his lips.

“You’d explore. The first thing you would do is get out and run around. And that is the actual worst case scenario.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” he asked, playing with a scratch on the biobed covering. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Can’t say that _this_ was ever my forte.”

“So far so good, Bones,” Jim assured him. 

 

“Hey,” Jim drawled, stepping forward with a swagger that was matched only by those who owned entire planets, “how’re ya doin’?”

McCoy tried not to smirk as a flash of emotions whipped through the old man’s blue eyes. His hand was still on his right leg, fingers curled, and they both knew that the second he closed his fist, a dozen assholes in decade-old pulsar rifles would tumble from the ceiling panels. Probably nothing so dramatic, but they’d be there as soon as their master was done figuring out whether or not Jim Kirk had found the faulty load yet. 

But Jim was smiling so effortlessly that even McCoy fell under his spell a bit. He clasped Morez by one spindly arm and drew him into a brotherly side-hug. 

“That good, huh?” said Jim to his silence, pulling back. 

“Kirk. I thought you had a bounty.” Morez relaxed, his pockmarked face admirably free of suspicion. 

“We did,” McCoy said. “Didn’t work out quite right.”

He nodded sympathetically, his hair bobbing slightly later than his head. “I’m sorry to hear that, boys.”

He tapped his right leg twice. 

Leonard knew the names of most of the cronies that materialized at his side. Marta, Lee, Enserib, and a few other faces turned to look at them. 

“Hey, Jim,” said Lee with a wave. 

Jim slapped him on the shoulder that still had an arm attached. 

“I thought I saw you over there. What, hiding from me?”

“Nah,” the man said, “I was on duty.”

“And now you’re not?”

“Nah,” he said again, “it’s always a party when you get here.” 

Jim looked reasonably flattered. 

McCoy yawned and leaned back against one of the wooden stools. One leg was shorter than the other and he wobbled on it, but Jim got his cue. He dropped his bag against the bar and hopped on top of it, boots resting against the stool Leonard was on. It was a risky move, pissing off Morez with the potential of marking up his already grimy stool, but Jim knew what he was doing. 

“You know, I love visiting you guys,” he said, “but we actually came on business.”

If they hadn’t been looking for it, McCoy wouldn’t have noticed the way the skinny man’s eyes flickered to something behind the bar. He crossed his legs and leaned back on Jim’s thigh, relaxed as he could make himself look. 

“Did ya? Well, that I can’t argue with. What’re you looking for today, boys? Better phasers?” he looked at the doctor. “Tricorders?”

“Selling, actually. I found something on the last run that I thought you might be interested in.”

Morez didn’t look convinced. Maybe he considered Jim’s usual bounty runs to be beneath him, maybe he just considered Jim to be. But the feigned disinterest would have to be part of the job description, so there was the possibility that he was already willing to buy, but they couldn’t count on it. Besides, Jim had deception mastered. He presented his goods like they were top of the line, like anyone in the galaxy would want them, but Jim had chosen Morez. 

“Why don’t you check your scanners?” he suggested, waving at the metal box conglomeration in the corner. 

From Uhura’s vantage point outside the atmosphere, their scanners spanned almost half of the little planet. Beside them, the systems resembled a bundle of scrap that had been rusting together for a decade. The wires had been torn from dead droids and washers drilled from obsolete foreign coin. It looked like it was about ready to burst into flames, but whoever had done the wiring knew more than the materials would suggest. 

Morez waddled over to it, his boots clicking against loose floorboards, and flipped open a hatch that looked more like a cabinet. Inside was deceptively dulled chrome plating and a flawless screen that gave McCoy the sense that the external appearance was. He pushed a candy-red button and there was an answering wail of electronics. The dealer grinned at Jim, eyebrows lifted gleefully. 

“Damn, Kirk, are you full of surprises,” he said, turning back and focusing the biodetectors. 

Oh, he had no idea. 

“You sure know how to charm a lady,” Jim said, hopping down and grabbing his bag. Lee and the others were watching them with wide eyes. 

“You gonna make me ask?” His eyes didn't leave the screen.

“That’s my favorite part!”

Morez leaned forward, eyes glinting, his knuckles white against the metal exterior. “Hell. What is it, Kirk?”

“A Vulcan.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock wakes up!

“What is it, Kirk?”

“A Vulcan.”

“Never heard of it.”

Jim smiled as if that was what he had hoped. He looked at McCoy, winked, and said, “take it away, doctor.”

God, he hated the deception. He and Jim hand been in tight spots plenty of times through the years, but usually it had been Uhura and Chekov who did the fancy lies and the many languages. He and Sulu usually just sat there and looked pretty. When McCoy had to be involved, the situation was probably more severe. He took a breath, ignoring the shaking of his hands and the prickle of many eyes watching him. All he had to do was recite the scans he had taken earlier. He didn’t even need to lie. 

“Copper based blood, which indicates the ability to survive in low oxygen content. Highly condensed muscle and bone material—this guy weighs a lot, but he’s about three times as strong as a human. And he’s telepathic—we think it’s by touch, but we haven’t had the chance to do enough tests yet.” He finished with a pointed eyebrow raised. 

Morez put both hands on the edge of his bar. 

 

Uhura fiddled with the dial on the channel system. The settlement had a shifter on full, albeit a very cheap one, and it made her job far more difficult than necessary. Once she found the frequency—not the radio frequency, but the frequency between channel shifts, she could set it on auto.

A voice that was not Jim or McCoy filtered through. “Very unique,” it said. “You’re—”

She flicked the dial.

“…Sure about selling, then?”

Got it. She punched the blinking blue auto button with a bright green fingernail. 

M’Benga was hovering behind her, looking nervous. He’d never been a part of the act before, they had picked him up on Montoye days before they set out to find the man that Spock should have been. He was a good physician, but he was an even better chemist. They could use more of both, frankly. McCoy only had so many hands. She gave him her best confident smile and he returned it weakly—he’d be a good crew member when he got over the stage fright. Well. It had taken her a while, too, but those had been very different circumstances. 

She hit mute and glanced at him. “How is he?”

“Just fine. A little too fine, actually. I’d give him ten minutes until he’s—oh.”

There was a weak groan from the bench where they had put him. No straps—McCoy had determined immediately that they didn’t have anything strong enough to hold him. She swallowed. He had seemed friendly enough before he went into his mystical trance, but she wasn’t too keen on letting him wander the ship without supervision.

“Mr. Sulu, you are needed on the bridge,” she said quietly, “with your phaser.”

She reached for hers, a tiny but powerful thing attached to her right thigh by black strips of cloth. M’Benga stepped forward just as their pilot burst in the door holding what looked more like a grenade launcher than a phaser. She pursed her lips. That might be a little bit overkill. 

The figure mumbled again. It was a worried sound, like someone who was trapped and only just beginning to realize it. He gasped for breath, writhing on the edge of the bench. It made her feel a little bit foolish that she had just requested backup from an injured man. 

M’Benga rolled his shoulders and stepped forward. “Well. Here it goes,” he said, and whacked the alien right across the face. 

“Woah, what was that for?” Sulu gasped, having jumped about a foot in the air. 

“Spock told him to,” Uhura explained, watching the side of the alien’s face turn bright green where M’Benga’s palm had hit. “He said that was the only way to pull him out of a healing trance. If one of us didn’t get to him in time, there might be damage.”

“Huh,” Sulu said. 

There was the static in the background of Jim and Leonard setting the trap very, very well.

Spock gasped and sat up just as another slap was to land on the side of his cheek. His hand moved impossibly fast, catching M’Menga’s wrist mid swing with no effort at all. Uhura swallowed. So there was something to those healing trances after all. 

“That’s quite enough, thank you,” he man said, combing calmly at his hair. 

He opened his eyes like a cat, an inner layer and then another, revealing intense deep brown. He took in their brandished weapons with no expression, glanced at the aluminum plating of the floor and the cracked padded bench that he had been set on and raised both eyebrows in a way that would rival even Doctor McCoy. 

And of course, on cue, Kirk started haggling prices. 

“I’m not taking less than two hundred,” said Jim. She could picture him standing there with a foot up on the edge of a chair, trying to look cool. McCoy would probably be getting himself comfortable and looking like he wasn’t paying attention while categorizing the weak points of every species in the room. 

“I don’t care who you’ve got, he’s not worth two hundred bars,” protested Morez. 

“Bullshit. I’ve bought from you before.” rescued from him, more like. “I know what your rates go for nowadays. You’d sell him for three in a heartbeat.”

“So why aren’t you offering twenty, kirk? Something wrong with him?”

“Because,” snapped Kirk, “I don’t want to have to deal with him anymore! The longer we keep him on our ship, the more chance we’ve got of getting caught. We don’t have the safeguards that you do. We’ve done business with each other for a long time, Morez. I can turn around right now and sell him to Sckeniova for twenty five if you don’t want him, but you’d better make it fast.”

Uhura resisted the childish urge to hide her face from Spock's undoubtedly shocked expression. She chanced a glance at Hikaru instead, who stood looking as guilty as a man could with a leg-sized gun in his hand. His eyes flickered back to her. 

Spock was still sitting quietly, his hands braced on either side of his thighs. The only betrayal of emotion was the slightly incredulous widening to his eyes. 

“Am I your merchandise?” he asked, softness of his tone disarming and dangerous.

Uhura figured he’d been through worse. 

Sulu glanced at M’Benga. “Not…exactly.”

The eyebrows were raised impossibly higher. 

“Remember how the McCoy passed right out when I gave him a painkiller?” M’Benga asked. Spock nodded. “The lot of it is corrupted. Mixed.”

“I recall,” the Vulcan said. 

“We’re not actually going to sell you,” Uhura said with a sigh. “Just using your bio signs. Consider it your toll for the ride home.”

M’Benga shifted back away from Spock, his boots squeaking over the aluminum, movements slow like he was pacifying an animal. All of their postures were carefully relaxed, even Spock’s, like nobody was sure who would snap first. They were probably evenly matched with the guns. She turned down the radio a little. 

“I believe,” he said slowly, like he was talking to children, “that I owe you a debt.”

“What?” Sulu said. 

“Your crew liberated me from my captors and provided medical assistance. Although I do not know if you intend to release me—”

“We do,” she cut in, “We planned to after this. Had we taken you home first, we would have lost the element of surprise.”

“The possibility that you had not discovered the faulty shipment would decrease exponentially with time, yes,” he agreed, pressing his fingertips together. “And your deceptor would be free.”

“Yes,” she said. 

“I do understand the nature of your predicament,” he said, “despite my prior position. If I agree to help to the best of my ability, will you lower your weapons?”

She blinked. She’d almost forgotten that he was a t gunpoint. Sulu set his to the side, relieved to be free of the weight of it. Uhura followed suit and tucked hers back in the holster. Spock did not seem to relax. 

“Might I enquire as to the nature of your revenge upon this man?”

“In a bit,” she suggested, boosting the volume again. M’Benga, who seemed to have no issue with being in the Vulcan’s striking range, sat down next to him on the bench. they all quieted their shuffling. 

“I’m not going up there with no guard. I like you, I don’t like your crew,” said Morez from the radio. 

Sulu grinned. “I don’t like you either,” he said smugly. 

“It looks like we’re just about out of time,” she noted. “Are you ready to go?”

M’Benga nodded. “Scotty’s doing the last of his work then he’ll meet us. Christine is already at the airlock.”

“Chekov?”

“Is in position.”

“You, Mr. Sulu?”

“I was born ready,” he said, hefting the gun yet again. 

If Jim were there, they would be sharing grins. The tension would be replaced by adrenaline and they’d be cracking jokes like it was any other day. It wasn’t that they were any less capable without him. If they were going by the prices on their heads, well. Sulu was wanted double in the gamma guardant than Jim. Uhura wasn’t wanted anywhere, thankfully, but she knew her way around. And M’Benga, well he’d had his share of bad luck. They knew they’d be successful. There was just nothing worth laughing about. Not yet. 

After a visible hesitation, Spock stood with the rest of them. “Where would I be most helpful?”

“Honey, you just sit tight,” she smiled. “You’ll have your role soon enough.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPONES SPONES SPONES

“How dangerous?” thundered Morez. 

Jim’s neck was flushed in embarrassment, eyes wide as he leaned away. “Not dangerous! Just…shocked. We, uh, we’ve got him strapped down. I might’ve been a little rough knocking him out but Bones said he’ll pull through alright.”

McCoy nodded convincingly. “He’s a damn Vulcan, you should’ve seen him after the first healing trance. Jim’s an idiot. The green blooded hobgoblin can’t heal himself if we put him under, so we have to use actual medicine.”

The sand was getting hot under his boots. He shifted left and right, stilling when he saw the way someone at the bar was watching them. When Jim was in charge of the operation, sometimes he forgot how dangerous these people were. 

Morez crossed his arms. He had retired to a greasy recliner that looked to have once been pale blue plaid. “I’ll tell you what—you bring him down here, I’ll have Mitaki look over him. Give you a good appraisal.”

Jim snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re not the only faction on this rock, you know. The second I breach the atmosphere, Emily’s going to have every gun in the galaxy pointed at me.”

He seemed to consider that. “Yeah, she’s a bitch, ain’t she.”

They both hummed in agreement. 

Jim crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall with his head tilted carefully to the side. McCoy wanted to tell him to _get his back the hell off of that, who knew what kind of creature had rubbed against it_ but he just barely managed to keep his mouth shut. His humor might make his crew feel better, but it would set these men on edge. 

“I’ll tell _you_ what,” Jim said. “I’ll shuttle you up, you bring Mitaki, and I’ll take ten off of the bill.”

McCoy’s heart lurched. There was actually a chance he might go for that, which was absolutely not what they wanted.

Morez seemed to consider. His fingers were tapping idly against his arm in a discordant pattern that couldn’t have been a signal for anything. _Breathe_ , McCoy thought. _In through your nose, out through your mouth._ It would almost be better if someone pulled out a phaser. Then he would know where they stood. 

They were trying to thwart a smart man. A man with many more years of experience than either of them. Which is why he would inevitably disagree with Jim’s proposal. He probably thought they wanted to take him hostage. Which wasn’t wrong, really. 

“Nah, I’m not setting foot in that skiff of yours. I’ll tell you what—You bring a shuttle to my girl. Mitaki can let you use her medical lab. No cost to you,” Morez added. 

Jim cracked a smile a little too slow. _shit._ “Um,” he started. 

“No, really! My pleasure!”

Well. That was that. 

“Ah, C’mon Jim,” McCoy said, remembering his lines as well as he could. “Longer we keep him, the less he’s worth.” This, at least, was partially true. It was a strange industry. A horrible one. 

“Fine. Docking point?”

“3,” replied the slaver, smiling smugly. 

“See you in ten,” said Jim, clenching his fist so minutely Leonard thought he must have been imagining things. 

When they stepped outside, it was like all humanoid life vanished. Walking trails that could’ve belonged to deer were the only indication of civilization, and the bar behind them seemed like it had been abandoned for years. It was no wonder these people had evaded the Fleet for so many years. McCoy shrugged his shoulders and walked a little closer to Jim. They didn’t dare say anything for fear that Morez’s sensors were more sophisticated then they had anticipated. 

Jim did a scan of the shuttle. It was a disgusting pod that was, indeed, more like a skiff than a spacecraft. Leonard hated riding in it, but he also hated leaving it behind in case any of the assholes on this planet stole something from it and left them earthbound. 

It was intact, much to their relief. Leonard calmly stepped in after Jim and watched the door close. They said nothing. Neither of them knew if it had been bugged, but it had been a show of trust to leave it open. Dangerous. All of this was dangerous. 

They rose silently and without incident to their floating tin can. 

When Chekov opened the airlock door (manually, because their actual recall system didn’t work) they leaped out and shed their clothes. Scotty waved a tricorder over them.

“You’re free,” he said, meaning, to McCoy’s relief, of both foreign technology and bacteria. 

“Oh thank god,” he sighed.

Jim didn’t shorten his stride. He pulled an armored tunic over his pants as they walked, eyes straight ahead. “Everything’s fine on our side, Scotty. I trust you’ve gotten everything ready?”

“Aye, sir.” Scotty looked forever competent with his worried frown and scarred hands. If he said he had it done, it was. 

He rushed to the bridge alongside Jim, which wasn’t very far at all. They had to crawl up a short staircase and opened the hatch into the tiny bridge. 

“Continue as planned,” Jim announced as he shoved his head through the gap in the floor. “Rendezvous with the Enterprise on docking station 3, and Mister Sulu—oh.”

“What?” McCoy asked, and hefted himself upward by a handle. A very tall figure was looking down at him. “Oh.”

Spock just raised an eyebrow, arms clutched behind his back. 

“You’re awake,” he noted, nearly crashing into a wall as the vessel lurched forward.

“Obviously.”

M’Benga caught his eye and shrugged. 

“What the hell is going on here?” he asked, seeing how nobody had their weapons out. 

“I don’t suppose the comm systems have been on the entire time,” Jim accused. 

Uhura shifted comfortably in her chair. “As a matter of fact, they have, Captain,” she said in a way that would have come across as insubordinate from anyone else. 

Jim sighed and sat next to the navigations post. There was no actual captain’s chair on this hunk of metal. No matter where he stood, he always looked a bit out of place. “This complicates things.”

“Not…necessarily,” Sulu said, slowing them to docking speed. 

“I should think it would hasten them,” Spock said, stepping forward. “I understand that these men nearly killed your doctor.”

“I’m standing _right here_.”

“That does seem to be the case, Mr. Spock,” Jim agreed. They both looked at Leonard. 

“If you would consider it, I believe I can return the favor that I owe,” he said, indicating to the spot on his thigh that had been previously impaled and infected. 

McCoy also remembered, in hindsight, needle marks on the inside of his elbows and darkened green bruises around his wrists. He didn’t know how long Spock had been awake with the rest of the crew before he entered his trance. It would be a reasonable assumption for someone who didn’t know Jim that being saved indebted them. He wanted to argue, but he wasn’t sure they had much choice. They _needed_ Spock to get on that shuttle. 

Jim frowned. “Spock, we’d be glad for your help, but you owe us no favors.”

“I will assist you,” he said, as if none of them had any choice in the matter.

“M’Benga, how recovered is he?” McCoy asked as Sulu came to a stop. 

“He’s good, Doc.”

He glared at Spock. Spock made no attempt to hold his gaze. 

“Give me the tricorder,” he said. It reported numbers that he’d never seen before.

The Vulcan looked as if he was simply humoring the humans around him as McCoy inspected everything he could think to inspect. He lifted Spock's sleeve and was surprised to find that all marks on his hand, under his fingernails, and up his wrists had faded to a pale green. He ran a hand over the right side of Spock's ribs, feeling a foreign bone structure and a definitive difference in organ placement. 

Spock jumped.

“Does that hurt?” he asked.

“Negative. Doctor, if you would please—I am a touch telepath.”

He jerked his hands back. “Shit, was I hurting your mind or something?”

“I am not the issue, rather, I have little experience shielding from incoming information. I informed Dr. M’Benga but I had not yet had a chance to speak with you.”

“So you’re trying to save me the embarrassment?” he said, moving his way to prod at the arms where he had seen scar tissue.

“Yes.”

“Well, thanks, Spock, but I’m no blushing Nancy.” He grabbed Spock's hand and tested the joint flexibility. The other man pulled back as if he had been burned. “Hey, did that hurt?”

“It did not, Doctor.”

“If I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll—”

“Holy shit,” Sulu said.

Leonard glanced up. Holy shit indeed. He didn’t have a lot of good things to say about Morez, but damn could that man maintain a nice ship. He’d seen the Enterprise before, streaking through the atmosphere from far away. They’d never been close enough to touch it before. It was _huge_. Gorgeous. He bet that thing had a full sized medical bay, that it needed a crew of 70. It towered over them, plates of metal glistening in the reflection from the moon. Their entire damn ship looked like a shuttle in comparison. 

“She’s a beauty,” said Jim, and even McCoy couldn’t argue with that.

“Incoming signal from the Enterprise,” Uhura informed them.

“Get me on the channel,” Jim said. 

She did. The rest of them held their breath. “That, sir, is one beauty of a ship,” Jim started. “Where do you want us?”

Morez cackled on the other side of the line. “Ain’t she? You boys just sit tight. I got a good mechanic up here last month and I can beam you straight here.”

Jim sent a panicked look to his crew. They _needed_ that shuttle.

“Absolutely not!” McCoy said, brain whirring. “You can’t transport an injured man—especially not an unknown species. You could switch his brain for his stomach!”

Jim nodded at him gratefully. There was some static on the other side, background noise that presumably indicated Morez was asking his crew if that was possible. 

“Can’t have that, I suppose,” he said, and the doctor got the distinct impression that someday he would have a scrambling transporter specifically manufactured. “What shape’s he in, McCoy?”

Momentarily shocked at being directly addressed, he took another glance at Spock. “M’Benga did good work,” he said. “Good old fashioned stiches kept him together well enough. Still need a deep tissue regenerator, but I think we can manage to bring him to you.”

Uhura winked at him. He glared. He knew she was congratulating him on not squeaking like a teenage girl. 

“Good to hear it. We’ll receive you whenever you’re ready.”

Jim nodded to the screen. “Sending shuttle now. Kirk out.” 

And they shut the channel. 

“Trajectory locked, Captain!” Sulu said, leaping up and sliding down the ladder. 

Jim ducked down next, shouting up back at McCoy. “You sure he’s ok to participate?”

“He’s good,” he admitted grudgingly. Spock nodded his approval.

McCoy dashed with Spock to the shuttlebay where a self-levitating stretcher was waiting. Scotty was finishing drilling something into the top of the shuttle. His feet shook the whole vessel when he hopped down. 

“It’s done, Jim,” Scotty said. 

“Good. Chekov?”

“He’s ready.”

Leonard was about to ask where the hell Chekov was, but Spock was busy trying and failing to strap himself into the stretcher’s restraints. 

“Lie down,” he said, tightening the rough fabric near the wrists. He hated that they had to do this, replicate the situation that Spock had been in so little time before. Not that he looked at all bothered. 

“My strength is superior to humans,” Spock notified him, “I can break these restraints if necessary.”

“We had hoped so,” Jim said, clambering in so they could squeeze the stretcher in past him. The thing could hardly fit two people, much less three. One of them would probably end up in somebody else’s armpit. 

“Bones, get him in.”

Spock let McCoy wheel him into the tiny space. He stood there for a second wondering where he would possibly fit. It was either on top of the Vulcan or below him. He crawled in below like a child playing hide and seek. He supposed that was more or less what this was. Elaborate, highly technical, dangerous hide and seek. Poor Chekov. The floorboards creaked as the bay depressurized. 

“Ready?” Jim asked, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. 

“As I’ll ever be.”

Elbow quirked in a weird position and neck scrunched between his knees, McCoy was reminded why he never did this sort of thing. The hyposprays that he had in his boots were pressing against his calves. They would serve as his weapons—the very same compound that had brought them here in the first place. Jim would never make him use a phaser, but he knew he had to have something. It did have a sort of poetic justice. He had a feeling he was going to be the sitting duck in this equation, and he wasn’t even the one tied to a stretcher. Jim’s boot caught his shoulder as the shuttle started forward. 

It was a good ten minutes of travel to get out of their bay and another ten to reach the Enterprise. Once they did, there was a little mechanical arm that stuck down from the entrance and pulled them up. Thankfully Chekov’s escape was from a little cubby in the back. 

“Here we go,” he whispered, more to himself than the others. 

The door opened. There were no guns. No men in armor. Just Morez, a couple of his guards, and an ancient creature that Leonard assumed was Mitaki. They wouldn’t think anything of it. Two healthy humans and a half-dead Vulcan weren’t supposed to be able to pull off a heist. He stifled a surge of panic. The sooner their doctor got his hands on Spock, the sooner they would figure out that this was a sham. The cool pressure of the hypospray against his leg seemed much more appealing. 

Jim crawled out first, waving and shaking hands. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to set foot on this ship,” he said, smiling. 

McCoy was next, and he used the excuse of being crammed into a tiny space to cover up his pounding heart. He cracked his neck and braced his hands on his hips. 

“Ow,” he said. “Damn it, Jim, I’m too old to be crawling in that cartridge every hour.”

“Bones, you’ve been too old for space since you were twenty,” Jim said, which was true enough. 

“Try since I was born,” he retorted. “Alright, business. You must be Mitaki?” he said to the non-humanoid, crustacean looking individual. 

It chittered at him. The universal translator strapped to his belt parroted something like a “yes” and female pronouns.

“Good to meet you. I don’t suppose we can head to your medical bay? He’s docile enough, but I don’t want to be too far away from a good sedative.” Those words tasted horrid in his mouth. 

Mitaki let out a noise he assumed was laughter as the translator gave no explanation. They were motioned forward and into an _elevator_ of all things. He felt the claustrophobia pressing against him from all sides, even with the door wide open waiting for Jim. His hands tightened on the edge of the stretcher. _C’mon,_ he told his friend, but Jim was in no hurry. The longer he took, the more time McCoy would have awkwardly standing next to something that could probably kill him with less than a flick of her wrist, but at least he would still be able to see the shuttle. As soon as the turbolift doors closed, he would be lost in the metal gut of the ship and if anything went wrong, he’d be up shit creek. A hand curled around his wrist and he stifled a reflexive jump. Spock still appeared to be dead asleep, but his thumb was brushing the inside of Leonard’s wrist, sending tingles of confidence and calm up his neurons. Right. Touch telepathy. He loosened his hands so his knuckles were no longer white. 

“While we let them do their medical thing,” Jim said, running his hand along the side of an automatic door. They slid together with a soft hiss. “I don’t suppose I could get to see the engines? They’ve got to be gorgeous. Ours has got a T62, you know?”

“You’re shitting me,” Morez said, standing as far away from Spock as the space would allow. 

Jim sighed. “I’m dead serious. It takes hours to get to warp.”

Morez snorted. He gripped one of the stalks sticking from the wall. “Engineering,” he told it. “That’s just pitiful, Kirk.”

“Dazzle me. How long?”

“To warp one? From a cold engine?”

“Yeah, why not.”

“Thirty minutes.”

Jim rocked back on his heels, skepticism pouring from his posture. “Bullshit.”

“I ain’t. On a warm engine it takes a minute.”

“Yeah,” Jim laughed, “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“You’re about to,” Morez promised. 

“You’re not taking _us_ to warp, are you?” McCoy couldn’t help but ask, feeling the trickle of nerves begin to pick up again. 

“Is he still scared of flying, Kirk?”

“Terribly. I don’t know why I deal with him.”

“Oh, shut it, Jim,” he mumbled, just as the doors flew open. Mitaki clambered out. 

“Have fun, Bones,” Jim said, and they were officially separated. 

He gulped. “So. Which way to the medbay?”

Chekov was probably crawling out of his space right then, ready to find a control panel and tie in Scotty’s invention. McCoy was acutely aware that if he didn’t do something before the medic took any scans, their cover would be blown. He had to buy time for the pieces to fall into place. Until then, Jim was outnumbered three to one. This was about what they expected when they went in. It was still within parameters of the plan. He could only stall so long.

He wasn’t going to bother with small talk.

“Have you ever encountered this species before?” he asked, pretending to tighten the straps on Spock's wrists. With every brush of skin contact, Spock made him less jittery. 

“No,” came the reply. “I have seen their cousins, the Romulans, in combat. There are fundamental differences.”

“Have you? Different how?”

“From the initial scans, they lack much of the bone density. Their skulls are differently formed. They show little indication of telepathy.” He had begun to expect her answers to be staccato bits of information. 

He wasn’t sure how to read the emotional tells of this species—there were too many limbs, and the exoskeleton making her look a little bit like a bipedal lobster—but when he leaned forward conspiratorially and said “well, take a look at _this_ ,” he was pretty sure he had Mitaki hooked. All he had to do was reach his boot without looking like an idiot. 

Mitaki leaned forward to see what he was pointing at. A pale green line ran from Spock's ear to the collar bone. He prodded it gently. “See that scar? It was twice that size yesterday.”

“Very fast healing.”

“Very fast indeed.”

One claw came up to mime Leonard’s motion. It trailed down the length of the scar, and he saw it press forward, drawing a bead of green blood. McCoy stiffened, searching for a reaction on Spock's face. There was nothing. Mitaki’s sharp hand retreated to be replaced with a sample tube. The lid slid shut with a hiss and a drip of Spock's blood was immediately cryofrozen. She sat silently to watch the time it would take for the laceration to stop bleeding. 

“What do you mean by different cranial structure?” he asked quickly, trying to tear her attention away from Spock's skin. 

“it is not healing,” she remarked. 

“Not immediately, it won’t,” McCoy said, sweating. “He has to go into a healing trance, first. He was in one when we found him. It was working remarkably well. Unfortunately, he woke up in a worse mood than we had hoped and we had to sedate him.”

“Violent tendencies?”

“Just frightened, I think. He should be easy enough to tame.” 

He sat down on the edge of the stretcher, hoping desperately that the attention would be off of them soon. If he kept her occupied with conversation, she’d still be able to do a physical checkup and he wouldn’t be able to get to his hypo. If he let her do scans, the façade would be up. He had to do something, anything, or she’d start to get suspicious. If she wasn’t already. And damn, she was way too interested in the way Spock's blood welled and fell into the valley between his muscles. Vulcan control, he noted, was admirable. 

“What’s his heart rate?” he asked, hoping she’d go for the simple scanner before the full body. It didn’t matter either way. He was going to have to sedate a creature with four arms. This was going to be fun. “I have to say, I’m not sure if it’s naturally high or if it was a result of blood loss. By human standards, he should’ve been dead.”

“Human standards are low,” she said. 

“Well, that’s a bit subjective.”

She turned her back. He reached delicately in his boot, hoping desperately that her hearing wasn’t better than his, and returned to his usual posture with hypospray in hand. His heart was like a drumbeat in his ears. He stood up.

“You were correct,” she said, using a neurotricorder. He could work with that. “His brain waves are remarkably active. I believe he is telepathic.”

“Let me see,” he said, moving closer. 

“There is a concentrated amount of activity where he bleeds,” she said, making another mark on his skin, this one long and thin and slow. Blood flowed lazily from the parted skin. 

That, he decided, was enough. Spock could probably sit there all day and take as many hits as she could throw, but he wasn’t about to sit there and watch. Not when he had the ability to do something about it. McCoy knew he was fast. He wasn’t strong or skilled like Jim, but he knew where to hit a person to make them hurt, where to inject someone to send medication right to the brain. He knew how to mix his medications to create a paralytic or a stimulant or a local anesthetic. He knew how to take the corrupt painkillers that they had given him and make something much nastier. It wouldn’t kill her, he hoped, but it would definitely knock her out. McCoy tried to be casual about it. He brushed off his pants and leaned over next to her, peering onto the screen of the tricorder.

“Oh, I see,” he said, and stabbed the back of her neck where the calcium plating didn’t cover. He prayed that it would affect her species quickly.

The hypospray hissed, she screamed, the universal translator spouting something about his mother. One of the many arms she had crashed into his cheek. His vision blacked for a second and he found himself sprawling on the floor, shuffling back just as another claw crashed down right next to his ear. 

A sound like two pieces of metal sliding against each other filled the room. If nobody had heard that, he was a Klingon.

“Goddammit, Spock,” he said, hoping that the urgency in his voice would be enough of a cue. He saw the stretcher lurch. Spock better not have been lying about being able to break free. 

The hypospray was still sticking from her skin, pinched between two pieces of armor. It was fully administered. Her movements should have been slowing down. Needless to say, they weren’t. 

He placed himself behind a biobed, ready to dodge. On her hip was the communicator—she hadn’t gone for it yet. She probably thought that she could tie him up and throw him at her master’s feet with an apple in his mouth. A blessing in disguise, he hoped. 

Something found itself underfoot, a piece of equipment or a stray vial, and he rolled backwards, arms pinwheeling. He steadied himself on the corner of a wall just as a claw whipped by where his nose just was. _She should be out by now! _McCoy’s mind protested. The other three hands followed, two punching clean holes in the painted aluminum and another glancing off the side of his ribs when he tried to dash to the side.__

__“Spock!” he yelped._ _

__Fabric tore. He evaded again, but he was out of breath, a quiet simmer of pain from the torn skin at his ribs slowing him down. Her limbs were making him dizzy. He kicked at her knee, feeling like he had made contact with a brick. Damn that exoskeleton._ _

__This time, when he limped to other side, she didn’t chase him as quickly. She staggered, bracing herself against the wall, shouting more foreign syllables. The Hypo. He grinned. It was working, but it looked like she fully intended to take him with her. He jumped over a lab desk. He didn’t have a lot of room to run to anymore. He turned to make a final dash, as far away from Spock as he could manage—it would be no good to let her know he was awake, but his legs gave out and he heard an enormous crash from behind him. He spun around as best as he could without smacking his head against a table and saw Spock standing above his opponent, expression blank but intense. She pushed against him with the last of her strength, but he evaded with a deft hand and pinched the conjunction in between her neck and shoulder._ _

__Mitaki went still._ _

__“Oh, thank god,” he said, watching the Vulcan brush his hand on his pants as if the crustacean’s shoulder had been somehow contaminated._ _

__“You are hurt,” Spock said, rushing to McCoy’s side and lifting him up by an arm._ _

__“You took your damn time,” he said, scrambling to his feet. The adrenaline was gone, leaving him feeling unbalanced_ _

__Spock looked like he wanted to argue, but he pushed a hand over McCoy’s side where it was slippery with blood and maneuvered him to a solid surface._ _

__Tissue regenerators. Right. Ironic that they should need them now._ _

__“See that device, the one with the steady green light? Regen is the little one next to it. Activate the switch.”_ _

__Spock did as requested. An orange bar lit up and the dial on the right said 14. Assuming the majority of the crew was human, that was probably about right. McCoy pulled his shirt up to his armpits. He probably looked a bit like Jim, always artistically beaten up and clothing destroyed._ _

__“Gotta hold the skin together,” he said, gasping as cold hands found his bare skin and pinched. “Ow. Now push the—yeah, that.”_ _

__The skin burned as it repaired itself. Spock held the device steady, angled eyebrows furrowed. McCoy huffed out a laugh._ _

__“The process would go faster if you would hold still,” Spock snapped._ _

__“’S alright. You’re doing just fine. Funny how the tables have turned, eh?”_ _

__“Stop _talking_ ,” he said, pinning Leonard down on the bed with his elbow so he was free to use the regenerator like a pencil. He was, admittedly, doing a pretty good job. McCoy freed one arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. It came away with streaks of red and green._ _

__“Shit, you’re hurt, too!”_ _

__“I am scratched, doctor. I assure you that it is hardly an inconvenience.”_ _

__“Only a flesh wound, eh?”_ _

__Spock's eyes flashed with irritation. “Doctor, you should not have attempted to—”_ _

__“I wasn’t just gonna let her sit there and peel you like a damn potato, Spock! She was going to figure out sooner or later, and she would’ve notified Morez. Then Jim would’ve been in danger.”_ _

__“I am not questioning your judgment, but you should have notified me that you were going to attempt combat.” Amazingly, he looked sincere. He looked like he actually cared about what happened to them, about whether or not they succeeded. McCoy’s heart clenched._ _

__“Sorry,” he admitted. The burning was travelling higher up his side. Spock let go of the dermal regenerator to hold a different section of the skin together. It must’ve been worse than he thought. “I did say your name, though.”_ _

__“ _After_ you had attacked.”_ _

__He let out a breath, wondering if Jim had succeeded, hoping that there would be enough time to heal them both before the signal, but he didn’t have to wonder long._ _

__The lights went out and a blaring alarm shook through the ship._ _

__“Is that what’s supposed to happen?” he asked, trying to sit up. “is that Chekov’s doing or their alert system?”_ _

__“I am nearly finished.”_ _

__“We don’t’ have _time_ for that, dammit!” _ _

__He glared as McCoy struggled. “Would you prefer that I hold you down or induce unconsciousness?”_ _

__“Spock, I swear to—”_ _

__The regenerator beeped._ _

__Spock let him sit up and he let out a relieved breath. “Is this the virus, then?”_ _

__Spock nodded. “I do not believe that they would have intruder alarms, atmospheric pressure alarms, red alert in combination unless something _highly_ unforeseen has happened,” he pointed out. _ _

__“To the bridge, then?”_ _

__“Indeed.”_ _

__They made it about thirty feet to the turbolift after having tied Mitaki to the leg of a stretcher when the alarms stopped._ _

__“This is commander Chekov,” said an accented voice over the intercom, “I regret to inform you that we have taken your captain as hostage. If you would like not to be killed, go to the docking bay at once. If you do not go to the docking bay, you will be killed. And your captain will be killed.”_ _

__McCoy snorted. “I’d say that’s the signal,” he said._ _

__They both glanced back at the sickbay. Spock's brows furrowed, which either meant that he was in pain or he was thinking, he assumed it was the latter. Possibly both. The announcement began to repeat itself._ _

__“Escape pod?” he suggested, peering at the hard shell of Mitaki still visible from their position next to the door._ _

__“That suggestion has merit,” Spock said._ _

__“Or we could leave her there and put her in the brig later on.”_ _

__He tilted his head, eyebrow lifted in consideration. “The stretcher,” he said, glancing at McCoy._ _

__“Best idea you’ve had all day,” he grinned. “You lift I steer.”_ _

__They met M’Benga and Christine in the hall, both heavily armed. McCoy told them they had a present waiting to go to the shuttle, but he was pretty sure they didn’t believe them._ _

__

__Chekov was indeed enjoying his position as “commander.” Jim was letting him sit in the captain’s chair, a _real_ captains chair, and both of them were grinning. _ _

__Chapel had actually squealed when she saw her new sickbay. M’Benga had all but dashed for the vaccination storage. McCoy had left them in the hopes that any evidence of his fight would be gone when he got back, that his blood would be no longer be scattered about like a murder scene. From the accusing look Chapel sent him when he left, he bet it would be. Finnegan and his crew were already crawling about in the Jeffries tubes, all transported in as soon as Chekov got access to the codes._ _

__McCoy hadn’t let Spock out of his sight just yet, not when he hadn’t been cleared for the transporters and the fine stripe of blood down the front of his shirt was still wet._ _

__“Hello, Bones,” Jim said, clapping him on the back. “That went pretty well, I’d say!”_ _

__“Smoother than an ice tea in June,” he agreed, rocking back on his heels._ _

__“I would have to disagree,” Spock said with a pointed glare, “even if caffeinated beverages had relevance in this situation.”_ _

__Leonard rolled his eyes. “You’re kidding me. Are you? No, I don’t’ think you are.”_ _

__Uhura gasped from a corner. “Oh, look at that! Completely rerouted into the internal frame. Gorgeous,” she said, prodding at the wiring._ _

__“I see everything went alright on your end,” Jim said to her, smiling._ _

__“Right as rain, Captain.”_ _

__Spock paused. Leonard glanced back at him. They looked at the crew, far too small for such a large ship, gathered in the bridge. Some were gossiping, others sitting quietly and waiting. All were beaming._ _

__“If I may ask,” Spock said, “what you plan to do now?”_ _

__“Well, Spock,” McCoy said, “have you ever seen a maple seed fall?”_ _

__Jim burst out laughing at that, clapping them both on the back and giving them that crinkly-eyes smile, the one that demanded loyalty and gave it back in equal amounts. McCoy felt himself smiling, too, even after having nearly been gutted. Spock looked a little bit shocked. After having been kidnapped, held hostage, and stabbed, their casual nature was what had him confused._ _

__Chekov gave the captain’s chair another spin before hopping out. “All yours, Captain.”_ _

__Jim took his seat like a dainty princess feeling for a pea, and, when nothing seemed to be amiss, grinned even wider._ _

__“Scotty, have you finished transporting the crew onto their new vessel?” he asked._ _

__“Aye, sir. It’s all ready,” Scotty assured him._ _

__“Everybody’s totally sure they don’t need anything?”_ _

__There were a chorus of affirmations._ _

__“Well, then. Whoever’s got the tractor beam, release it please.”_ _

__Nothing happened._ _

__“Who has the tractor beam?” Jim said, rubbing his temples._ _

__Chekov looked at Sulu. Sulu shrugged. Uhura glanced down at her display and shook her head. Scotty, who was edging toward the turbolift door, raised both hands. Jim sighed._ _

__“This is going to be a learning experience,” he mumbled._ _

__“I believe, Captain,” Spock said, walking to the left, “that you can access it from this console. As well as from Mr. Chekov’s.”_ _

__“Would you do us the honor, then, Spock?”_ _

__There was a definite glint in Spock's eye as he pushed a series of buttons and stepped back with a flair. A rumbling from deep in the engine rooms vibrated their seats. Scotty’s eyes widened._ _

__“You know,” McCoy said, “I think we should give them a kick.”_ _

__“Can I?” Chekov gasped and with Jim’s approving nod, hit them directly in the shields with a minute phaser attack._ _

__It was more amusing than it should have been, seeing their old, awful, dirty and scraped vessel dead in the water, propelled only by the momentum of Chekov’s attack and the ever-steepening gravitational force. It spiraled, possibly more graceful than it had ever been, toward the planet. Like a maple seed falling from a tree. They’d figure out how to get power up soon enough, but until then they would spin vaguely in circles. Maybe, if they were lucky, they’d break the atmosphere before then and the auto landing would kick on._ _

__“It’s going to be a long trip to Vulcan,” Sulu said, looking over his shoulder, “even at warp seven.”_ _

__Scotty shook his head, mouthing “warp seven” like a mantra._ _

__“Spock,” Jim said, “We’re sorry about this. Really. Thank you for helping.”_ _

__“It was my pleasure, Captain,” he replied, as if it honestly had been a good experience._ _

__“Just Jim, if you please. Why don’t you take a seat?” they all looked expectantly at the chair with the little binocular box and a variety of brightly colored buttons. Sulu nodded encouragingly._ _

__“Very well,” he conceded._ _

__“Now wait just a second,” Leonard said, “You’re not going anywhere until you let me fix you, and then I’m doing full scans. Don’t forget where it was that we found you.”_ _

__He ignored Chekov’s pained wince. It was a perfectly reasonable request. It had barely been days since they picked Spock up from a rusty, metal cell in an abandoned part of space. Who knew what kind of viruses were working their way through his veins, things that their shitty little ship’s equipment hadn’t been able to pick up. He thought back to how they had first interacted, Leonard sticking his hand on top of Spock's bleeding leg and then being crushed into the wall._ _

__“Doctor,” Spock said, exasperation lacing his tone._ _

__“Look,” he said, shifting. “Maybe we got off to the wrong start.”_ _

__“Perhaps.”_ _

__He held out his hand. “Leonard McCoy,” he offered. “I have no intentions of drugging you, selling you, or locking you in my basement.”_ _

__Spock's lips twitched. He looked at the hand, back to McCoy, and at the hand again, and just as he was feeling stupid for leaving it out here so long, Spock took it._ _

__“I believe the correct response is, ‘pleased to meet you.’” He slid his fingers along Leonard’s palm as he pulled back._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and corrections are always appreciated.


End file.
